


making deals

by SafelyCapricious



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M, Fae & Fairies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-07-19 12:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7361308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SafelyCapricious/pseuds/SafelyCapricious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The raiders come in the spring.</p><p>Normally Sir Gonzales is back in the manor by then and they could appeal to him for help. They’re the village furthest west in the whole kingdom – nothing past them but the Wilds and the men who inhabit them; and the not-men who inhabit them.</p><p>Fantasy AU.</p><p>For wssummer prompts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. raiders

**Author's Note:**

> For the wssummer wedding/engagement AUs theme, week one.
> 
> I'm vaguely planning to try to do a chapter for each session, but we'll see how long I can manage that. (Obviously dependent on me having ideas and the prompts fitting enough that I can turn my head, squint and pretend.)

The raiders come in the spring.

Normally Sir Gonzales is back in the manor by then and they could appeal to him for help. They’re the village furthest west in the whole kingdom – nothing past them but the Wilds and the men who inhabit them; and the _not-men_ who inhabit them.

Some of those men might have ended up joining the raiders – but Jemma doesn’t think so.

Of course, she’s biased.

She also has more experience with those men – and more true stories of the not-men – than most anyone else in the village.

Her cousin was one of the men who came back from the war – which one she couldn’t say for sure as it always seems their kingdom is fighting a war to the far south that never touches them in their fields. But he came back from the war  _different_.

Everyone else called it “wrong”, but Jemma loved her cousin Lance and he’d tried so hard to live with them when he came back. She’d seen him struggle with trying to be normal – but he couldn’t manage it. He was too damaged and scared and _powerful_ from whatever the King’s sorcerers had done to him – what they had had him do – and so he’d gone into the Wilds.

If the raiders are made up of the wild men like him than they village would never stand a chance – but Jemma doesn’t think so. They aren’t skilled enough, aren’t _good_ enough to be that.

The village waits for Sir Gonzales to come, hunkering down and hoping this too will pass.

But Sir Gonzales never comes.

The raiders keep attacking.

She attends the town meeting, deciding what to do, though she knows she won’t help to make the decision. Still, her property, the property she worked with her Will before his death, is well outside of town and at risk.

May – whose husband was one of those killed in the first attack by the raiders – speaks loudly about learning to defend themselves and fighting back. Hand – with all her property in the center of the village advises to move the outermost families in and to cut their losses – to wait it out.

But as Coulson tries for a compromise between the two women, it’s Mack’s mumbles about the wild men that gives her the idea.

Her cousin is dead – she knows because before he would drop by at least once a season and help her fix up the house after her Will passed away. He hasn’t been by in over a year now, and as much as she misses him and part of her thinks he could’ve lived longer in the village than in the Wild – married Miss Morse as he was planning to before he went away to war – she knows he was happy there in the mountains. She knows because he told her, just as he told her stories of the other men and so she knows they aren’t bad men – despite the things that Mack is implying.

She doesn’t _do_ anything about her idea until nearly harvest, however.

The attacks have continued – have gotten worse even. She’s living in her brother’s house – which is slightly awkward since he only married Daisy shortly before the raids started and she very much feels as if she’s imposing, but it’s not safe to stay outside the village anymore.

May also got her way, and they are learning to fight – but they’re farmers and need to work during the day and their prospects are looking increasingly dire as Sir Gonzales continues not to return and the raiders circle.

Finding out Daisy is pregnant though, that’s what finally forces Jemma to move – as afraid as she is, and she is – not of _them_ but of the other things in the Wilds and, of course, the raiders – she’s not going to not try everything she can think of to protect them.

So she packs a small bag and goes into the Wilds.

Lance told her – never directly but in the details of his story – how to get to one of the meeting space where the wild men meet.

Even wild men need company sometimes.

She hopes she won’t have to wait long, before someone shows – she hopes they don’t avoid the area when they hear her or see her or _smell_ her.

It’s an easy enough place to find – though she’s glad she’s wearing some of Leo’s pants or the brambles probably would’ve never let her through – but there’s no one there.

So she waits.

And waits.

And _waits_.

It’s not quite dusk when she starts to worry. She’s only brought enough for two days, maybe three if she can manage to forge and find a water source in the meantime, but the note she left only said two days and she’s afraid someone will try to find her if she’s not back by then.

She’s not sure what she’s going to do if no one comes.

Come back, she supposes.

And keep coming back until she meets someone who can –

The hair rises on the back of her neck and there’s no change in the air or the birdsong or anything but suddenly she is very sure that she’s not alone. She turns her head, not getting up off her rock for fear of startling whoever it is but she can’t see anyone, not by turning her head either direction and then she does pivot on the rock and –

Still no one.

Her heart is pounding now and she – she remembers how Lance could move, after he came back, how he could hide and no one could find him. She has to swallow twice and wet her lips before she can manage to force the words out, and they aren’t as confident as she wants but – she cannot see whoever it is and she’s more nervous now than she was before when the whole concept was abstract.

“Blessings upon you,” she manages, voice only shaking a little as she offers the traditional greeting. It doesn’t matter what corner of the kingdom the wild man came from before this – he’ll recognize it. She hopes.

There’s movement out of the corner of her eye and she turns and her breath catches in her throat.

“And upon you,” says the most handsome man Jemma has ever seen. And then he just stands there. She’s still sitting mostly on the rock and he seems as tall as the trees – she’s not surprised, anymore, that she couldn’t see him before. He’s wearing a mismatch of linen and leather in greys and greens and browns and even while she stares at him he seems to blur a little around the edges and melt back into the forest.

He’s regarding her curiously, but he hasn’t said anything and she has planned a whole speech – which she’s forgotten in the face of, well, his face.

“We need help,” she finally says, standing on shaky legs and finding that he’s still tall enough that she has to tilt her head back to meet his bemused gaze. “I know that you – that all of you – don’t like to interfere or be involved and I do understand why but…could we give you something for your assistance? Land or…or crops or blankets or anything? I don’t – I cannot promise more than I myself can provide and I’m not very good at weaving but I can barter for it if you’d like and I do think the rest of the village would be willing to make the agreement if you – if you would help us?”

He grins, teeth brilliant white against the tan of his skin, and steps forward and around her, settling on one of the rocks close to the one she’d been perched on. “You want to make a bargain.” He considers his words, obviously rolling them around his mouth before settling on, “No, not a bargain. A _deal_.”

Jemma nods, unsure. Lance was more confident, more settled once he’d started to live mostly in the Wild but she hadn’t – he wasn’t like this. “Yes,” she agrees, when it appears he’s not planning to say more.

“You want the raiders dead?” he asks, head tilted towards her.

She recoils because – because she does. They killed Andrew and Eliot and Rose and Danny and so many others already and they could kill Daisy and her unborn baby and Leo and – she takes a deep breath, not quite ready to face the ferocity of her own thoughts. “I want them…gone,” she decides on, biting her lower lip, “and if you have to kill them for that to happen then yes. But just…just away from here would be enough.”

“Ah,” he says, leaning back and smiling at her, “that changes things.” She’s not sure what he means and before she can ask he’s extending a hand towards her. “You can call me…Grant, by the way. What is your name, miss?”

Her gaze drops, embarrassed, even as she reaches out to take his hand. “Jemma, I’m Jemma – I’m sorry I didn’t –“ his fingers are under her chin and he’s waving her apology away as he tilts her head up.

“I think that the price for getting rid of your problem will be a wife, will your village do that for me, _Jemma_?”

She blinks, and stutters and – she’s never wanted to get married again and she cannot agree on the village’s behalf if she herself won’t do it, even if she suspects one of the other unmarried women will be happy to take him and – she nods. “Yes, if you can get rid of the raiders than I think suits will be accepted. And if no one else will than I will. But…” she considers him, his fingers under her chin are warm and oddly comforting, “but don’t you need to talk to the other men first?”

He grins, and now she’s close enough to see how his pupils aren’t quite round and his eyeteeth are long and behind his mess of black hair his ears come to delicate points – or maybe he only just let her see and – “Oh dear,” she breathes.

“I don’t think you’ll be needing any _men_ ,” he says before standing and helping her to her feet. His hands are gentle on her arms as he does so and she’s not sure what to think because while the stories Lance told her about the _wild men_ were always very comforting, those about the _wild not-men_ were the sort that sent her to bed with nightmares.


	2. bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How long will you be gone?" Jemma asks, perching on the chest at the foot of the guest bed – of his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For "travel" and "weather" over on Ward Simmons Days, Summer.
> 
> Sorry for being behind on replies, and also sorry there wasn't any for the last session. XD Canon AUs and modern prompts don't play super well with this universe.
> 
> Also, this chapter was written third but posted second because I'm putting them in chronologically. So this is a few months (maybe four?) after chapter raiders and a little more than a year before chapter spimogrphys.
> 
> Comments make me really happy.

"How long will you be gone?" Jemma asks, perching on the chest at the foot of the guest bed – of his bed.

"Not long. I can't know for certain. It might take some time to find what I’m looking for.” Grant frowns and tucks a last little something into the small pack on the bed. "Less than seven sunsets."

She nods, unsure. She knows the villagers will talk about him leaving so soon after marriage – or they would if any of them were likely to notice. It's less that, though, that has her concerned and more the fact that even two months since the last of the raiders had been seen it’s still hard for her to think that they're really gone. Especially now that she’s living in her home again, well outside the protection of the village.

He turns away from his pack and steps close. She can feel the calluses on his hand when he cups her cheek and she closes her eyes and leans into it. He drops a kiss to the crown of her head, resting there for a moment and letting out a gusty breath. "When I return we will be married per my traditions." He sounds slightly unsure, like it’s a question but he doesn’t want it to be one.

She nods again. It was part of the agreement. He actually hadn't cared about the village ceremony – the human ceremony. Not that he'd told anyone that, but it had been obvious to her. She would've called it off if it didn't seem to at least appease some of the villagers – watching the creature who had terrorized and, in a few cases, killed the raiders behave like a normal man had been comforting to them. She, who had been his near constant companion, hadn't been fooled by how human he can act – but then, she no longer finds his otherness frightening.

"Good," he says and pulls back, grinning wide enough that she can see the unnatural sharpness of his teeth. It used to be frightening – still is to others, she knows – but now it just makes her smile. 

"Be safe," is all she can say. He's her friend, she thinks, and he's been nothing but respectful of her – so far – but she doesn't know what his marriage traditions might bring and she's still somewhat nervous about being in the house alone again. But he needs to take this trip and she thinks she’s probably being silly to worry. So she smiles and waves goodbye.

 

***

He comes back with a woman.

Woman might be too generous a term. She can only imagine what the villagers would say when faced with her – Raina, she says her name is – and none of it is kind.

"I like your place. Very... Human." Raina, Jemma is discovering, has the ability to make anything sound like an insult. But Grant is ignoring her – cooking something he insists is traditional – and so Jemma will be polite.

"Well, I am human." Or, if not polite, than at least she won’t be outright insulting.

Raina laughs and looks delighted, the quills on her face move with her mirth and her eyes change from brown to amber. "Oh, I like you."

Grant looks up and frowns. "Don't get any ideas, she's mine."

Raina pouts, but her eyes are still dancing. "You've always been so possessive. It's very unbecoming."

Grant bares his teeth and Raina bristles, quills arching up alarmingly. Jemma takes a step back and points at the door. "If you're going to fight, do it outside." The furniture consists entirely of items Will made and she won't forgive either of them if they're broken.

Raina relaxes first, backing down and throwing a smirk at Jemma. "Maybe I don't want you if you're so bossy."

Grants lips uncurl and he turns back to whatever he's frying. It's a root she doesn't recognize, and leaves she does and the whole thing smells like sweet rust. "Good."

Raina circles the room again, peering curiously at everything. The only sound that can be heard is the soft sizzle of the pan.

Jemma only lasts a few moments before breaking the silence. "The ceremony – the wedding? – how does it go? What do I need to know?"

"Oh, it's easy. You just stand there and hold his hand – I guess that part might be tough – and say some things." Raina clicks her nails against the reliefs carved into one of the cabinets.

"Oh."

 

***

 

It is both exactly what Raina said and nothing like it.

It's raining, and it's still early enough in the season that it's more icy than refreshing, but Grant holds an oilcloth over her head as he walks her into the trees and then the branches move until no water falls through.

Her toes dig into the loamy earth as she tries not to shiver. He grimaces, having insisted on no shoes, and then drapes the oilcloth around her shoulders and rubs them briskly.

Raina's whiskers twitch and Jemma thinks she's trying not to smile. "Do you two come before me to be bound together as the earth is married to the sky?"

"Yes," says Grant.

Jemma says nothing until they both turn expectantly to her, and then she bobs her head. "Oh, yes."

Raina does smile now. "Do you two come before me to be bound together as the night is married to the day?"

"Yes," they both say.

Jemma can't be sure, because although it's only midday the storm clouds and trees make the entire area dim, but she thinks things are moving around them – small little alive things.

Raina tilts her head. "Do you two come before me to be bound together as the sun is married to the moon?"

"Yes."

There are definitely things in the underbrush and shaking the leaves, watching.

"Take hands," Raina says and Grant turns towards her, taking both of her hands in his. Raina untangles two vines from the tree to her left, using a swipe of her nails to cut them free, and steps forward. "Two hearts, two spirits, two bodies – one life. So you shall be bound like the sun is bound to the moon," she says as she winds one of the vines around Jemma’s right wrist and Grants left. "Two hearts, two spirits, two bodies – one life. So you shall be bound like the night is bound to the day." She binds their other wrists together. "Two hearts, two spirits, two bodies – one life. So you shall be bound like the earth is bound to the sky." She slashes down with her hand and Jemma can't flinch back but she tries, Grant’s hands on hers holding her tight – but Raina’s hand stops right above theirs and three drops of Raina's brilliant red blood falls on each of the vines. They glow for a moment.

"So it is," she says.

Grant nods his head. "So it is."

Jemma wets her lips. "So it is."

The vines crumble, turning to grey dust and drifting down and where they were Jemma can see dark marks on her wrists, marks that look like the vines that were wrapped there – Grant has similar markings and when she looks up at him, curious, he’s smiling down at her. “We’ll seal the marriage by eating, if you’re ready to go inside?”

“Yes,” she says, although she feels less cold than she did at the beginning – his hands radiating warmth into hers – she’d still like to bundle up, it’s been a long day.


	3. spimogrphys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rising sun is warm against her face and even though it hasn’t even finished chasing away the fog of the morning she knows it’s going to be another sweltering day.
> 
> She looks out over the field – her field, the one field she kept after Will left, the field that has been a learning experience for everyone. If she looks at it straight on it looks like just another field of wheat, but if she tilts her head and squints her eyes she can see wondrous things growing up out of the lush earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the wssummer cohabitation theme, week two.
> 
> Because I'm using Wssummer prompts, I might end up posting out of order (i.e. writing a chapter between what is currently 1 and 2 and placing it there), and time frames might be a little wonky.
> 
> This is over a year after the first chapter.
> 
> Minimally edited, let me know if you see anything wonky.
> 
> As always, comments are appreciated!

The rising sun is warm against her face and even though it hasn’t even finished chasing away the fog of the morning she knows it’s going to be another sweltering day.

She looks out over the field – her field, the one field she kept after Will left, the field that has been a learning experience for everyone. If she looks at it straight on it looks like just another field of wheat, but if she tilts her head and squints her eyes she can see wondrous things growing up out of the lush earth.

She hasn’t asked if it’s something anyone can see or just those who know to look – or if she’s different now. (She doesn’t _feel_ different, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t been changed.) She’s not sure she wants to know the answer. Not when Mrs. Weaver, her favorite teacher and woman she used to be friends with, still crosses to the other side of the street when she sees Jemma walking in the village. And she’s not the only one who flinches back from the sight of Jemma these days.

She supposes she can’t blame them for their distrust – their fear – not with how most of them were originally introduced to the wild ones.

***

“ _Who_ is coming?” Coulson asks her, brow furrowed like she’s been speaking Southern.

She knows what she said – and she’s sure he, and the rest of the village meeting, heard her. But he’s trying to give her a chance to change the story.

Jemma resents him for it.

It was hard enough to say once. But she steels her spine, steadies her voice and rephrases as simply as she possibly can. “I went into the Wilds to get help and a wild one said he would.”

Coulson rubs the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes tight. “That’s what I thought you said.”

The rest of the crowd murmurs around her and she keeps her chin up. The meeting is for how to deal with the raiders, again, since the solution of moving everyone into town and training when they can hasn’t done much good. And except for a handful of those missing – people keeping watch at the boarders or watching the little ones – the entire village is there, gathered at the space by the well in the town square.

She’d stepped forward as soon as Coulson had started the meeting and as she’d told the story she heard the unhappy buzz going around, and it’s back again now that Coulson has seemingly accepted that she’s not _lying_.

But now he’s not saying anything, just staring at her with a slight frown and she wishes she could retreat back to where her brother and Daisy stand – but she made her choice because she thought it was the only possible option – and if it will keep them safe, keep _Daisy_ and her baby safe – then Jemma will stand by it.

“And what,” asks May after a long pause, “does it want for this _help_?”

Jemma bites her lip. She’d left this part out earlier but she can’t anymore. “A wife,” she says, and despite knowing it’s coming, flinches back from the burst of sound that erupts at that.

“And _who_ ,” Hand’s voice cuts through the din – the woman is spitting poison, “do you think is going to sacrifice themselves to one of those _things_? Which of _our_ daughters do you expect us to sacrifice?”

Jemma’s brow furrows – Hand doesn’t have any children, or even any nieces (or nephews for that matter), not to mention that she _still_ hasn’t suffered unduly from the raiders.

“I will,” Jemma says firmly. “I will because I made the deal and I want to be able to live without fear, I want to be able to go _home_ , I don’t want to have to worry that they’re going to take the harvest and even if they leave we’ll all starve with the coming winter.” Besides, she thinks but doesn’t say, she _had_ a good marriage and she cannot imagine ever meeting a man who could compare to her Will.

“You say that like you think I’d accept anyone else.”

She startles, almost falling down as she turns quickly to see the speaker behind her.

Grant catches her arm easily and keeps her balanced, offering a warm smile that crinkles his eyes. “Hi,” he says, and she’s not sure what he’s doing but his ears are rounded and his teeth flat and white and he looks _human_. Handsome, but human.

He steps closer, gently turning her back around so they’re facing the staring village together.

Mostly they look confused – but on a few faces she can see fear and it’s not just directed at him. It’s directed at her too.

“I’m surprised none of you have questioned _how_ I’m going to do it, rid you of your little raider problem, I mean.” She desperately wants to look, to see what expression accompanies a tone that’s so light and carefree but somehow sends chills down her spine.

“Well,” says Hand, and Jemma cannot tell if the other woman doesn’t hear the menace or just doesn’t care, “how are you going to _help_ us?”

He must do something – smile with his sharp teeth maybe – because the crowd flinches back. She turns to look, human fear forcing her to face the monster at her back, but then his hand is tangling in her hair and he’s pulling her closer and saying loudly over the muttering of the crowd, “None of them will harm any of you,” and pulling her into his chest so she can’t see.

There’s a rush of noise, and at first she thinks it’s the pounding of her heart, or maybe his, as he holds her against him, his fingers kneading gently against her scalp but then the blood clears from her ears and she can hear it – it’s like water, or wind…or wings.

There are cries of fear and alarm and she has to look.

His fingers untangle, somehow not getting caught at all as his hand drops down to the small of her back, keeping her close. She looks up at him first and he is _him_ again – fangs and ears and slightly slit pupils – and then she looks over her shoulder and –

They’re nightmarish things. Muted red with multiple leathery wings and some with wings that look like they’re just bones and sharp talons and beaks filled with fangs and so many eyes that she feels frozen in place and thinks she might join in the cries of despair if not for the bubble of space around her and Grant and how warm his hands are against her.

And then she realizes they aren’t touching anyone. They are swirling around and massing and swooping but no one is injured and she remembers his words and feels herself relax despite the fear still coursing through her veins.

***

Now, of course, she knows that the spimogryphs are extremely passive – vegetarians – they use the teeth in their beaks to break open branches and scrape out the inside. Of course, they can break bones with their jaws, but they aren’t inclined to – as long as none of the children try to play with their kits again it shouldn’t be a problem.

They’re sweet, in general though, and now that she’s used to their slightly alarming appearance she thinks of them rather as cats. Most notably because one has taken to living in her house and rubbing up against her in the morning before she lets him out – and him and all of his flock will probably gather on this very porch around midday to catch the sun and nap and –

She supposes it really is no surprise that the villagers never come out here anymore, not unless they need her medical advice desperately. Rather they wait until she ventures into town.

Jemma sighs and closes her eyes, tilting her head into the sunshine and flexing her bare toes against the smooth warm boards of the steps to try to recapture some of the peace she’d had just moments before.

Before she can give up and start her day, however, Grant folds down gracefully behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and bracketing her with his legs. “It’s too early for a sigh that deep – why don’t you come back to bed?” He nuzzles in behind her ear and she tries to squirms away because it tickles but he holds her steady and then drops a kiss to her skin and rests his cheek against her temple.

“I’ve too much to do to go back to sleep,” she says after a long minute of contemplating the similarities between her new husband and the spimogrphys. Both frightening in their aspect, but harmless unless threats are raised against those they care for.

He drops his head and noses at the lose neck of her shirt, nudging it out of the way so he can drop kisses and nibble lightly on her neck with his sharp teeth. “I didn’t say anything about sleep,” he mumbles, lips pursed against her flesh.

She laughs, loud enough to scare one of the little leaf creatures out of the nearest tree, and shakes her head before starting to squirm out of his grip. “Uh-huh. You’re meeting Coulson today, to go around the perimeter of town and set those wards you told him about, or had you forgotten?”

He releases her and helps her to her feet before she can even make an attempt. “Even if the invaders do decide to come this far, they won’t be here for a while yet. I can do it tomorrow. Or next week.”

She snorts and slaps his arm lightly, “You’re going today. I have things to do. So shoo.”

She pushes at his chest and he doesn’t even move with it, arching an eyebrow and then drawing her closer with hands on her elbows. “I at least get a kiss before I leave,” he says, voice low.

That’s not something she wants to deny him, though she’s already expecting him to try to walk her back into the house, so she makes sure to stand firm even as he kisses her and she feels the earth move. She only allows him one kiss – one long, through kiss – before pulling back, slightly breathless, and saying, “Now go.”

He pouts, but goes, and she heads towards the small barn to deal with the animals.


	4. pumpkin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mrs. Ward,” says a young male voice when Jemma is looking over fruit in the market place. She makes note of the name, and the voice, as she tests the skin on a peach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't manage to finish this for WSSummer, so this last chapter doesn't have any sort of prompt attached to it. I hope you all enjoy it, regardless. And apologies for the long wait. 
> 
> Much love to all of you.

“Mrs. Ward,” says a young male voice when Jemma is looking over fruit in the market place. She makes note of the name, and the voice, as she tests the skin on a peach.

Some of the other wild ones are going to visit – though she isn’t quite sure when. Grant only told her the night before, but trying to wrestle time frames out of him is exhausting and pointless – and she doesn’t even know who is coming. All he said was ‘guests;’ just ‘guests.’ She’d long ago given up on being annoyed about his inability to understand these common, _human_ , courtesies; just as he’d given up on trying to follow them.

“Mrs. Ward?” the voice comes again as she tries to decide if buying more peaches for guests that might not come for another month is an extravagance they can afford. 

She sighs and decides against it, picking only two and holding them out to the man managing the stall. She doesn’t recognize him either, though the fruit he’s selling is certainly Coulson’s. One of the people who managed to flee to their village before the invaders swept into theirs, then. She smiles at him – everyone is still wary of her, but the newcomers do it more out of observing the others than knowledge and with them she suspects she has a chance of winning them over – so long as they never see Grant as he really is.

There’s a tug on her sleeve and she turns. “Mrs. Ward?” It’s the boy from before, and only now does she realize he’s addressing her.

“I’m sorry,” she says, tilting her head and accepting the change back from the stall worker, “that’s not my name.”

The boy’s face screws up, stubborn and sure. “You’re married to Mr. Ward aren’t you?”

Jemma smiles. He reminds her of Leo when they were young. “No, I’m married to Grant.”

The boy stares at her like she’s speaking another language and the stall worker finally speaks. His accent is somewhere further south that she’s used to hearing and she wonders how he got all the way to their little village – but just a glance convinces her he’s not a threat, even if he wouldn’t have been able to get through Grant’s wards if he was.

“Mr. Coulson took census recently,” he says, words slow and thoughtful. “Even though we won’t be sending it on to anyone – somethin’ about preserving records? But your husband didn’t have a last name, so they gave ‘im one. Ward – on account of him laying the wards to protect the town, you see.”

“Oh,” Jemma says, eyes wide. She supposes she should’ve been paying more attention to events in the village – but she’d given up on attending the town meetings when no one would sit by her but Daisy and Leo. No, that wasn’t quite honest. She’d given up on attending when she’d seen how others stepped away from Daisy and Leo and their adorable little baby when she came – the village needed her and resented her and she wasn’t going to let them paint her loved ones with the same brush.

“You are Mrs. Ward, aren’t ya?” the boys asks, suspicious now and peering up at her.

“Well, if Grant’s last name is Ward now, I suppose I am. What can I help you with…?” 

“Thomas,” he supplies readily, grinning gap toothed at her.

She crouches down and smiles back at him. “What can I help you with, Thomas?”

 

***

 

What he needs her for ends up being a small, injured wil-o-wisp that he and his sister found, and she carefully takes it from the young girl, handing them a peach to split in payment for their care.

The poor thing is young, barely a glow, and injured. She cradles it to her breast as she walks back to her house, what little shopping she managed to get done before the interruption in a single bag on her arm.

It flutters in time with her heartbeat and she whispers soothing nonsense to it.

There’s a hissing slithering noise when she crosses from under the trees onto the open path to her house, and she sighs. One of the elessians has become unreasonably fond of her – at least, it’s unreasonable according to Grant who swears the beasts hate noise and light and, most notably, people. This elessian – who she’s named Pumpkin, much to Grant’s bemusement – has, at least, stopped trying to follow her into the village. (Once was more than enough to deal with that particular trauma.)

Pumpkin seems to materialize next to her as she walks, his skin formed from black smoke that coalesces and wavers away as he – walks isn’t the right word, even though what look like muscles do move him along, glide maybe – glides next to her. His bright green eyes peer up at her curiously and he makes another hissing slithering noise and sniffs.

“Do not,” she says, fixing him with a firm glare as she holds out the handle of her bag, “bruise the peaches.”

His teeth are bright silver and she swears he smiles at her before taking the bag from her hand and vanishing in a noise that sounds like fall leaves rustling in the breeze. 

“Don’t worry,” she says to the wil-o-wisp who’d trembled at the appearance of Pumpkin, “I won’t let anything eat you. You’ll see.”

It’s hard for her to see the wheat that is, theoretically, in the field now, her vision taken up with the colorful variety of plants that waver between worlds – she’s not sure how others can’t see them, but just last week her brother came over and complimented how the wheat was growing, so she supposes they must not.

Grant is nowhere to be seen – not in the field or in the open barn, and she debates for a moment with herself before heading into her little side building. It’s new, the wood gleaming where Grant fixed it up for her and it smells strongly of the herbs she’s been drying in it. The wil-o-wisp relaxes, once they enter, and the door shuts behind them, leaving them in twilight dark and scents.

It’s hard to organize what she needs with only one hand, but she’s not willing to put the wil-o-wisp down and she manages, and within a few minutes has a working ointment and nest for it to rest in, while it heals up. She makes it a small bowl of sugar water and then leaves it to heal, the dark and quiet will be better for it than anything else. 

Spinner – the spimogrphy that seems to have adopted her and Grant – is waiting just outside the wards on her herb shed, and she leans down to scratch him behind his multiple whirling eyes before continuing on.

“Grant?”

She waits, head tilted as she looks over their land, and then there’s a small tug on her hand and she turns and heads towards the house. Jemma finds him lying on top of the covers on their bed, arms folded behind his head and eyelashes making dark shadows on his cheeks. He’s not asleep, though either he was or is planning on it, as he’s only in his sleep pants, but even as he stays motionless with his eyes shut she can tell he’s not asleep.

She tugs off her boots and curls up against his side, her cheek on the smooth skin of his chest, listening to his heartbeat, his arms unfold and wrap around her, holding her close. “What happened?”

“There’s a hurt wil-o-wisp in the herb shed – I’m not sure what did it, but I’m afraid it might’ve been villagers. The kids who found it certainly aren’t the ones responsible though.” She can feel the growl rumble through his chest, though he doesn’t try to move. “And,” she lightens her voice and traces a circle over his abdomen, “the villagers are calling you Mr. Ward now, why didn’t you tell me that Coulson had given you a last name?”

He rumbles again, more beast then man, and she pokes his side. She can feel his muscles tense and relax and she knows he’s decided not to delve into the wil-o-wisp problem just yet. She’s glad. She’s hoping she’s wrong but…She doesn’t think she is.

His fingers come up to card through her hair and she can feel him press a kiss to the top of her head. “The name, it matters?”

“Not really,” she admits, shifting her weight so she can lean up and look into his face. He’s stopped pretending to be anything but what he is, by now, and she’s glad – even if it does give more force to some of the villager’s dislike of them. “But I didn’t realize when people were talking about _Ward_ they were talking about you.”

His smile is sharp. “What did you tell me about listening to gossip, again?”

She scoffs and kisses him, before he can say anything else and he laughed before rolling them over and setting to work at the obnoxious buttons of her dress. She laughs as he swears and does her best to distract him with kisses.

It’s not perfect, but it’s damn close and while she can’t be grateful for the tragic circumstances that led them here, she’s still glad that this is where she is – with him – even though they still have work to do.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find my writing tumblr [here](http://capriciouswrites.tumblr.com/). <3


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